


The Sinner’s Judgement

by ScalesCastOfIron



Series: The Sinner’s Judgement [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst and Feels, Blackwall is basically Sera’s dad at this point, F/M, Implied sexual content from canon, Jealousy, Redemption, Spoilers for Blackwall Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-13
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:20:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 7,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24169507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ScalesCastOfIron/pseuds/ScalesCastOfIron
Summary: The lies Thom Rainier has tried to keep hidden have resurfaced, and he is about to lose everything. Can three spirits provide the key to his salvation, and is he willing to pay the price?
Relationships: Blackwall/Female Inquisitor, Blackwall/Female Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Series: The Sinner’s Judgement [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1837033
Kudos: 20





	1. Chapter 1

He knows it is over. The moment he hears her footsteps on the cold prison floor, before he hears her speaking his name, _that_ name. 

Whatever this was, this... glimpse into another man’s life, one that slipped from between his fingers, long ago. Gone, burned to ashes and scattered in the winds.

He can’t look her in the eye, not this time. Keeps his head down, as he tells the whole, sorry, sordid tale. Of the man who let greed fill his heart, and made the worst mistake of his life. The mistake no time can erase, and no amount of good works and kind words can undo.

_I’m sorry, Evelyn. I’m sorry I can’t be the man you thought I was. The man you deserve._

She doesn’t say much. Nodding, affirming, her voice quiet, soft. Her hands, those long fingers that once traced their way down his face, his back, now curled into fists in her lap. Her face, once so full of life, now still, fixed, a mask he cannot read.

He doesn’t know what scares him more. What if he breaks her heart, hurts the one person he would give anything to shield from harm? How could he bear to watch the truth burning her?

But what if he doesn’t? What if, after all they shared, she sees him as a diversion and nothing more? Another footnote in Evelyn Trevelyan’s adventure. A man she once knew.

He hates himself for the thought, the anger and self-loathing adding to the flames burning through his veins.

_Forgive me, my lady. I would have protected you from anything. I failed to protect you from myself._

_I failed._

***********************

He turns away as she leaves, her footsteps echoing down the stairs, filling the room with her deafening absence. He closes his eyes, trying to blot out the memories struggling to be heard, filling his mind like a swarm of bees.

Her voice calling his- the name, the day they met. The sun twisting and turning in her yellow hair, looking for all the world like Andraste in her glass windows. The Herald in all her glory. How she’d accepted him, as he was. Just a Warden, a man, nothing more. 

The first time her hands found his, the day that Red Templar monster had nearly felled him. Her hands, tracing his body, keeping the pressure on the wound in his chest as Sera poured the tiny potion down his throat. How he’d had to catch himself just in time, before reaching out his hands to the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. How Sera had yelled at them to Just bloody kiss already will ya, I’m not hanging round here forever! And how, with the crimson flooding across Evelyn’s face, he’d started to let himself believe.

And how she’d kissed him, that night in the barn. Let him take her into his arms, casting aside all else. Just a man, and a woman. The feel of her lips on his skin, her breath on his neck....

It would have been so easy to stay. He was falling for her; except falling was never the word. He could be the better man for her, the man she deserved. He could raise himself up for her.

But he couldn’t drag her down with him. 

He could still hear her voice, carrying down the stairs. Whatever words were there, lost to the stone; just the rise and fall, the melodies he would never hear again.

Another voice too, this one lower. A man’s. He’d heard Commander Cullen’s barked orders to his men often enough to pick them out. Softer than he’d ever heard them. Soothing.

_That’s quite enough, you smooth bastard._

That monster again, burning within him. The millstone round his neck, dragging him back into the depths.

_This is what you wanted, don’t you remember? Her freedom, bought with your fall._

************

That night, the first spirit comes.


	2. Chapter 2

“Captain Rainier.”

The man’s - the boy’s - face is pale. He waits, staring like a deer caught in the path of an arrow.

“What?”

The boy gulps, his Adam’s Apple bobbing.

“We’ve taken down the target, sir. As ordered. But the men....”

“What about the men?”

They had lingered here for too long now. Too exposed. The gold in his pocket was starting to burn. Far better to flee, back to Orlais with its comforts, its distractions. The coin could buy him ale at the tavern, or perhaps a night in some pretty little thing’s bed. Enough to wile away some time.

“They... they’re scared, ser. You didn’t say there’d be.... _them_...”

As the man in front of him stared from side to side, desperately trying to find something, anything to cling to for assurance, the knot in Thom’s stomach started to tighten. Something was wrong. 

He’d been promised easy money. One hit, on one noble. All that was needed. All that it took.

As he rode to the site, the wind tore at his hair, tugging at the stubble on his chin. He felt his thoughts pounding with each rise and fall of the horse’s hooves.

_No._

_Not like this._

_Never like this._

His men shrank away from him as he strode towards the ruined cart. Eyes darted down, conversations stopped mid-sentence. All waiting. All watching.

He could see the man slumped on the wet ground, head resting on the wheel blood dripping down from the gash on his neck. Eyes boring into his, seeking out his guilt. The old warden, staring him down. 

_Blackwall. No, no! I never meant -_

Beside him, slumped to one side, hands clasped around the arrow sunk deep into her chest, the tiny elf lay. The only time he’d seen her silent. Face frozen in fear, never to laugh again.

_Sera! Please, Maker, not her, she never -_

With a sickening dread, he turned to face the seat of the carriage, blood turning to ice, his heart beating a devil’s march in his chest. 

_Not her._

_Maker, please -_

She could have been sleeping. No marks marred her form, or signs of injury or struggle. Only her eyes, staring unseeing, their normally vivid green now dulled. Her skin, now pale and cold as he clutched her close, as if he could will her back to life with his own despair. Somewhere, some wild animal was screaming in pain, in anguish, as though -

*********

“Having fun there, are we?”

He jerks awake, with a start. His hands find cold, damp stone, and as he remembers, the knot in his chest starts to unravel, turning to dead weight.

Evelyn was safe, and he would never see her again.

“Not a talker, are we? Rather rude, don’t you think?”

That voice again. Here. Like a human‘s, but different, wrong somehow...

He turns, to the bars, where light streams in from the figure, lazily draped across a barrel. A man, made of green light, with dark eyes, fixed on his.

As he catches the man’s eyes, he smirks, raising one eyebrow in an exaggerated gesture.

“Ah, good. You’re with us again, Captain.”

“Don’t.... don’t call me that.”

The man laughs, a shriek like an Orleaian noble. 

“But isn’t that the whole point, dear Thom? Why we’re both here in this godforsaken place?”

Somehow, in his sleep-deprived state, Blackwall feels the pieces start to connect.

“You’re a spirit.”

The man shrieks again, clapping wildly and rocking back on the barrel.

“Oh, well done! Took you long enough....”

Blackwall sighs, rubbing his face, running his fingers through his hair.

“What do you want from me, creature?”

“Oh, _creature!_ ”

The man tuts theatrically, drawing himself up to his full height with a flourish.

“What do I want, what do I want.... straight to the point, oh I do love that in a mortal!”

He bows deeply, one hand moving as if to whisk a hat off his head.

“One Spirit of Memory, at your service. Here with a deal that surely, a man such as yourself cannot refuse.”

“Can.”

The man folds his arms, pouting like a child.

“Oh, really. No convincing you? Not even willing to hear the pitch, this one is! Even when it means seeing _her_ again...”

He can’t help himself, jerking upwards with a start before he can catch himself.

The man laughs again, a nobleman enjoying a servant’s folly.

“I knew it, I knew it.... we all have our price...”

Blackwall curses inwardly, feeling the blood curdling in his hands as he grips the bars of his cage.

“No. Whatever you’re offering, I won’t take it. I created this fate, and whatever you’re offering, anything you can offer... I can’t take it. I’ve had enough of _deals_.”

The man only grins, moving closer like a mabari circling its prey, wrapping his fingers around the bars, his eyes meeting Blackwalls. 

“Nothing can change your fate? You doubt my methods....”

Blackwall can feel the energy thrumming around this man now. Like the humming whenever Evelyn closed the tears in the Fade. 

_What monsters can this beast unleash?_

_Can a monster fear monsters?_

Slowly, very slowly, the man peels one hand off the bars, extending it through, palm upwards, waiting.

“One trip. No obligation, no commitment. You see what I have to offer, you make your choice.”

“And if I don’t take... whatever it is you’re offering?”

The spirit smiles, a glimpse of warmth cracking through the performance.

“You wake up, here. She wakes up, there. The world continues to turn. Nothing changes.”

_A second chance? A clean slate? Or a trick, a chance to make things worse? Drag himself down deeper?_

“And if nothing else... a chance to say goodbye. To her. Properly, this time.”

He knows he should say no. But how can he refuse, when every fibre of his being cries out, desperate for one last look at her?

“If I refuse, nothing changes? The world remains as it does today?”

The spirit beams.

“As if none of this had ever happened...”

With a last sigh, he takes the spirit’s hand.


	3. Chapter 3

Lights, blazing. Flashing past his eyes, a dazzling array of yellows, greens, reds. He closes his eyes, feeling air rushing around him, tugging at his clothes. It isn’t until he feels the stillness around him, the soft sunlight on his face, that he dares open his eyes. 

The morning sun blazes down on the courtyard at Skyhold. Somewhere, far off, the crows call to each other. Meg, the redhaired kitchen maid, sings a lullaby to herself as she carries trays from the inn to the undercroft. Horsemaster Dennet holds court with a merchant, flailing wildly with a half-eaten apple held in one hand. The smells of roasted pig wafts gently through a lower window.

He turns to the spirit, who grins wickedly.

‘How did you -‘

_‘WATCH IT, BEARDY!’_

He feels something slamming into his back. Shifting his stance, he catches himself, but a small yelp from behind him tells him that someone else was not so lucky. 

As he turns, offering a hand, he stifles a laugh at the sign of the elf in her crumpled heap.

‘You’ve looked better, Sera.’

‘Shut it you, ‘nless you want this mud in yer beard!’

She giggles, grabbing the offered hand and heaving herself up noisily. 

‘Come on, you’ll miss all the fun!’

She bounces from side to side, as if whatever news she has fizzes inside her.

‘Fun? What are you -‘

‘Inky and the Bull are going at it! In the squ- not like that, not like Her Gracious Ladybits would - but I hope she clobbers him! I’ve got five gold on her!’

_No. No no no, he’ll flatten her, what was she thinking?_

‘Come ooooooooon, we’ll miss all the good bits!’

She grabs his hand and starts half-leading, half-dragging him while his mind races, trying to grab the threads unravelling around him.

**********

‘Block. Block. Parry. Now, duck! Duck. Parry.’

A small crowd had gathered around the training grounds. He could see Varric and Dorian, standing on the stairs nearby, looking down over the proceedings. 

_And they have wine. Of course Dorian has wine. It’s not even lunchtime._

Sera catches their eyes, waving wildly at them, dragging Blackwall behind her. 

‘What’d we miss, what’d we miss? Don’t tell me she’s clonked him one already?’

Varric shakes his head, chuckling slightly.

‘Nah, not yet, kiddo. Couple near misses, though. Double or nothing? Can give you ten to one on the lady...’

Presumably the long raspberry Sera gives him was his answer; he turns to Blackwall, fixing him with the stare of a seasoned merchant.

‘How about you, big fella? Same odds, double if she knocks him out...’

He glares back, and Varric shrugs, perhaps sensing defeat. 

‘Suit yourself, your loss...’

Dorian smirks, wrapping one arm around Varric, topping up his glass and winking at Blackwall, sending every hair on the back of his neck on edge.

‘Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much, old boy. Looks like your fair maiden can handle herself quite nicely...’

_**Your** maiden?_

He turns, facing the pit below them, and stops to take in the scene.

‘Duck! Duck! Parry. Parry. Now!’

Commander Helaine prowls around the perimeter, her clipped orders cutting through the air. In the centre, two figures, armed with sticks, slicing them through the air, blocking and turning with unexpected speed.

Blackwall has seen Bull fight before. A warrior armed with strength, and with size. Today is no different. He lunges, bringing his weapon down hard enough to send the leaves and dust in the arena scattering, leaving clouds in his wake.

And in the centre - ducking, darting this way and that, twisting in the air to miss one swing, bringing her weapon up to block another in midair - the Inquisitor, his Evelyn, fights as he’s never seen her fight. No longer in the shadows, protecting another, she soars.

As his heartbeat slows, and the breath starts to reach his lungs once more, he starts to see more. Evelyn was a dancer, once. Before the Circle. He could tell in Halamshiral, from the way she could move for the step before the beat had played, from how she held her slender frame. Helaine must have seen this too, used it to her advantage; without the benefit of size, she moves quickly, her balance perfect, able to strike quickly and be out of range before her opponent can land his blow. The steps of this dance are basic, without any of the flourishes he has seen from most nobles who take up a sword for sport; instead they are simple, precise, and deadly. 

He sees the blow before it happens. Bull feints, moving just too deliberately to one side, before slamming suddenly with the butt of his weapon. He sees it in slow motion: the blow to her head, her fall to the ground, the way she slides through the dust.

Silence falls. Stillness. Then she raises her head, and her hand scrabbles to find a purchase. 

The crowd roars. There are screams of joy, of commiseration, a celebration of the show. He sees the Bull offering her an arm, clapping her on the back. Commander Helaine, a smile of pride creeping across her face before she could hide it. Evelyn grinning in pride, one hand covering the small, growing patch of red on her forehead- 

_Shit._

He darts down the stairs, shoving himself roughly through the crowd. Today, of all days, he doesn’t care how many eyes he draws.

A voice cuts through the crowd, growing closer as he pushes in further.

‘Inquisitor, please. You need to get that looked at. If you will only allow me to take you to the healers, and -‘

Commander Cullen. He could feel the monster inside him start to growl.

‘I insist, Commander. No need to worry about me, at all. Josephine will be furious if I keep you from your work, I’m sure of it.’

The crack in her voice makes his heart sink, and he pushes harder, sending a soldier scurrying to one side.

And then he sees her.

Someone’s found her a bench, and some rags to hold to her bloodied head. She smiles weakly at the Commander as he hovers, a hummingbird trying to find a purchase on a flower.

‘But... someone should accompany you to the healer, at least.’

‘I will, my lady’

He hears himself speak, as he steps forward. Around him, eyes turn. The only eyes he cares about meet his, and the smile that washes over her face threatens to break his heart once more.

She turns from him, eyes meeting the Commander’s.

‘I trust you’re happy? I can ensure Blackwall files a full report on my condition with you in the morning, of course.’

The Commander nods, an awkward half-bow, and turns on his heel.

As he reaches her, she wraps one arm around him, burying her face in his chest. He wants to hold her, here, not caring the eyes of the crowd are on them. To bury his face in her hair, to feel the warmth of her body against his.

To promise to stay, here. Forever. To never leave her, to be her Blackwall, the man she fell in love with. The man she deserves.

_Click._

At his side, Evelyn lies frozen. In the crowd, men and women stand as statues, their mouths open as if to speak.

‘You could have this, you know.’

The spirit steps forward, moving as if floating through the crowd.

‘All is as it once was. You become Blackwall again. This whole...’

He draws in breath, heavily.

‘.... _incident_ in Val Royeaux never happened. A chance to try again. Better than a prison cell, hmmmmm?’

He feels Evelyn at his side, pressed into him, her head nuzzled into his neck. As if he - as if the Warden - was all she needed in the world.

He closes his eyes. Counts to three. Breathes.

‘No.’

‘No?’

The spirit’s eyes widen, one eyebrow raised.

‘I made my choice. I’m not living a lie. Not for her.’

The spirit lifts his arms in an exaggerated shrug.

‘Very well! Your choice, after all. Perhaps one of the other two will have more luck...’

“The oth-‘

He wakes with a start on the cold stone floor.


	4. Chapter 4

He supposed he should be grateful, really.

It had come a week after he entered the cells. Or two, maybe. He’d lost track of time, with only meals shoved between the bars to mark its passage. The sound of footsteps upstairs. Shouting. Something being slammed, hard, on something barely firm enough to take it. 

Two of Cullen’s men, barely into their first stubble, were rushing down the stairs. Catching his eyes, they pause, edging closer to the bear trapped in its cage. Finally, one of them, his hands fumbling, manages to fit the key into the lock, and swing the door open.

‘Cap... Captain Rainier... By order of the Inquisition, you are to come with us.’

_Evelyn, no..._

‘My crimes were against Orlais, boy. Nothing to do with the Inquisition. You shouldn’t be meddling.’

The two soldiers look at each other, and for a moment Blackwall swears he can see the thoughts flitting between the two like thrown balls of paper. He’d seen it often enough with new recruits; without the experience of years on the field, how do you cope when the plan changes?

_Whatever mess she’s created, however she’s tried to undo this... it is done._

He sighs.

‘Fine. On her head be it.’

********

He’d ridden the road from Val Royeaux to the Frostback Mountains before. Once before as a new recruit, after time on leave with his squad to waste their gold on ale and women. Once as Warden Blackwall, cutting it too close to the city, fearing the memories it held as much as the dangers of being seen.

And never chained by his ankles to a bloody cart.

He swears he can feel every pebble and every pothole as the wheels judder and crash along the damp road. The rain starts as a drizzle, but turns to a downpour, flowing down the cart towards him like a river in miniature. Another night sleeping in wet clothes, trying to ignore the constant pounding of the water on his face.

It wouldn’t be so bad if the men would talk to him. Even to yell, curse, scream. To even look at him. Instead, he is the ghost among them. The great open secret that no one wants to acknowledge, but skirts around, their eyes turned away.

*******

On the second day, he sees him. The commander, riding like a king with his furs around him, surrounded by his loyal troops. The banner of the Inquisition flying by his side, the message clear. _I ride for the Inquisitor._

As the cart approaches, Blackwall feels his stomach sink. He wants to feel something, anything. To have the confrontation which must surely come. But the Commander looks through him. Past him. And rides away.

********

_Tap. Tap. Tap._

As night falls, he curls up on the floor of his cart, trying to drown out the drumming of the rain. The noise of the men at the camp has quieted, the half-hearted attempts at fires out. Only the few men out to keep watch, backs to him, staring down at the Orlesian countryside below.

‘They know they don’t have to watch you. Nowhere you can run to.’

A woman’s voice, low and breathy, makes him jump with a start. Turning, he sees her, perched on the back of the cart, one foot lazily tapping on the sides. She seems made of red light, flowing into the sort of curves bards claw each other’s eyes out to even describe. As she sees his eyes linger, she smirks, rising with the grace of a dancer.

‘You know why I am here, I presume.’

He gulps, unsure how to answer. He remembers the deal, and the first spirit. But this one seems so... different? Like trying to compare a songbird to a snake.

‘You wonder what I can offer you. What there is to tempt a man such as yourself.’

She turns over her hand slowly, extending each finger, flowing, and extends it towards where he sits, his back pressed to wood.

‘I will show you what could be. All that a spirit of desire could provide. If you don’t like what I offer, I shall return you here. But if you do...’

She waits in perfect poise, like a trap preparing to spring.

He rises, drawing himself up to meet her eyes, and feels himself start to weaken as her eyes meet his.

‘You can’t tempt me, spirit.’

‘Oh?’ 

She smiles, and he feels her snare spring and coil around him.

‘Why not prove it?’


	5. Chapter 5

He knows what to expect this time. The colours flashing past his eyes, the wind, tearing at him, howling in his ears. He closes his eyes, and waits until stillness.

‘Commander Rainier?’

_Shit._

The voice is soft, but pressing, the Antivan accent gentle.

He opens his eyes with a start, finding Ambassador Montilyet’s boring into him. To her right, Sister Nightingale paces, rolling a figurine of something in one of her hands. Between them, the table is covered in a map, toy soldiers taking the place of real troops. He picks one up, his thumb tracing down the red lacquer.

A sudden clattering draws his eyes up. Before him, Leliana moves a tiny figurine forward, advancing on some threat.

‘It’s quite simple. My scouts are ready and waiting. One word from me, and I can have them slip by the Darkspawn and find whatever nest they’ve constructed. Risky, but worthwhile.’ 

She folds her hands neatly behind her back, and straightens, her expression fixed.

Before he can stop himself, he finds the words pouring out of his mouth.

‘I’m sorry, my lady but sending a scout or two to just _slip past_ Darkspawn? Might as well sign their death sentence here, and now. Won’t get you any closer to putting the creatures down, either. No, you need soldiers. Enough in the area to engage, and sweep the area. They’ll find where the bastards are hiding, don’t you worry.’

‘And our men are ready?’ 

The voice to his left takes him by surprise. Evelyn sits, staring dead at the pieces on the board, as if to take her eyes away for a second would be to lose them all.

‘You have good soldiers, my lady. Any of them would be ready.’

She sighs, eyes closed for a moment, then turns, her eyes harder than he’d ever seen them. 

‘Very well, Commander. Give the order.’

She nods at the two women, as they collect their papers and disappear wordlessly. As though dancing the steps to a song they’ve sung many times before. He watches her, still fixed on the tiny statue on the table ahead, dwarfed by the flags around him.

As the door clicks, she raises her hands, running them through her hair, nails tracing her scalp, rubbing her eyes. When she finally speaks, her voice is soft, and the quiver in it threatens to break his heart again.

‘They said it would get easier. See the big picture, not the people. But... how? How do you forget that these are _real people_ out there?’

He crosses the threshold before he knows it. His arms wrapped around her, as she buries her head into his chest. He feels his hands winding upwards, tracing down her back in long, deep strokes. Feeling himself starting to match his breaths to hers, rising and falling as her breaths start to flow more easily, and the pounding of her heart against his chest slows.

‘It never does. Not if you keep your heart. Not if you stay the Evelyn I know. The Evelyn I love.’

It still feels like a dream. Perhaps this one is. The warmth of her hand on his face, her lips meeting his. He feels the fire burning within him, as he turns, with one fluid motion lifting her easily onto the table, her arms around his neck, his following the curve of her spine up, and then down. Her hands fumbling at the fastenings around his neck, trying to snake their way in -

Footsteps, rushing towards them, followed by a sudden, insistent knock. 

‘Inquisitor! It is time.’

She sighs, smoothing her hair and her clothes hurriedly. He wants to keep her there, stay within the glow of her eyes, but whatever flame was burning in the moment is starting to flicker and fade. 

As she rises, her hands find his, and she kisses him, gently. 

‘Be here for me after, my love?’

He nods, and she is gone. 

*******

The crowd is thick now, the buzz unbearable. Nobles from Orlais muttering in hushed whispers, kitchen maids ducking here and there to get a good view.

‘Nothing like a good trial to get people worked up, huh?’

He turns with a start. Behind him, Varric has found a chair to stand on. 

The dwarf stares out at the crowd, his arms folded, a look of pure distaste etched on his face.

‘Course, there’s the excitement of it all. _One of our own_. No wonder she’s scared shitless.’

He motions to the throne, at the head of the room. Evelyn stares down at them all, the Herald of Andraste in all her glory. Her face fixed like a statue. Untouchable.

‘Crowd’s baying for his blood, of course. If she lets him off, they’ll want hers too. Can’t let a monster like that go free. But can’t let a good man like that hang, either.’

‘A monst-‘

With a booming crash, the doors are flung open. Two rows of soldiers drag a man through, she sounds of the chains on his wrists echoing through a suddenly silent hall. Blackwall strains to see across the crowd, but can barely catch a glimpse of him as he passes. Dirt streamed through his normally immaculate hair, somehow smaller and weaker without the fur wrapped around his shoulders. Cullen Rutherford brought to his knees.

_Click._

He sees the spirit moving towards him, the smile of a snake about to strike, but the fire inside him burns too strongly now. The forge for a blade. He feels the words coming through, wanting to scream them in her face.

‘Am innocent man? You’d let an innocent man die, just so I can walk free? What the hell kind of spirit are you, beast?’

Her smile doesn’t drop at all; she extends her hand, tracing its fingers down his face. Where before there was flame, now ice. She leads in, whispering in his ear, her breath setting every hair on his neck on edge.

‘One who is about to give you _everything_ you desire.’

He steps back, feeling the ice in his stomach. Seeing Evelyn, the mask of her face staring down at the man in chains.

As he turns and storms away, he feels the world dissolving around him, until the only thing left is the rain on his face and the wet boards below him.


	6. Chapter 6

After three days, she still hasn’t come. He doesn’t know whether to feel sorry, or relieved.

Around him, the noises of Skyhold echo like ghosts of another age. Scullery maids singing as they carry baskets of laundry, feet pounding as soldiers drill. At night, the buzz of laughter as revellers head to the tavern to forget. 

The guards here wouldn’t look at him. Not properly. They’d feared The Warden Blackwall, left him be in his stables, as a man of his power and station deserved. And now, The Murderer Thom was a creature to fear as well. 

As he deserves.

**********

When the footsteps come, he believes it’s her. Light and fast, unlike the methodical beat of the guards. But they’re too fast, crackling fire rather than her gentle flow. He closes his eyes, bracing. It was never about breaking just their hearts, his and Evelyn’s. The fire would spread, catching anyone around him. 

_But wasn’t that why you left, after all? Sever the roots, before they spread too deep?_

The elf’s face is at the bars before he can stop her, hands clinging to the bars, eyes darting around, from the hinges to the keyhole.

‘I came when... they told me you were... what are you...’

She pants slightly, chest heaving as she catches her breath. Rising to his feet, he slowly approaches, taking his hands in hers.

‘Sera, you shouldn’t have come.’

She jerks her hands away as though burned, holding them to her temples as she paces the room.

‘They’re saying you’re someone else, you’re a murder, that you KILLED someone. _Kids_ , Blackwall. For the fucking _Game_.’

As the torchlight catches her face, he can see for the first time the tears starting to gather in her eyes, the red flush in her cheeks. She drags her sleeve across her face, before glaring at him blearily.

‘Tell me it’s not true. Please. And I’ll break you out, me an’ the Jennies. Tell me it’s all the nobles and their fucking games, and their fucking lies. _Please_.’

He can’t answer her, can’t meet her eyes. As he turns to face the stone floor, he hears her wail, and the sound of footsteps retreating away. 

‘Warmth, taken. Not a friend, not someone who cares, just another liar. Another liar who abandoned me.’

The boy’s thin voice drifts across the room.

‘Cole, you’re not helping.’

He turns, to find the boy cross-legged on the floor by the cell, his forehead pressed to the bars, eyes closed.

‘She’s hurting. They’re both hurting. And I can’t help them.’

_Both?_

‘Cole, please. Just go. Please.’

‘And now you’re hurting. Two men, two names, and it burns. And you’re burning it all. But whatever you do, you’re burning them. And it doesn’t bring them back.’

‘Cole.’

He closes his eyes, turning away. Trying to ignore the sounds of footsteps, as guards come, moving the strange boy onwar-

He doesn’t know why the guards came after Sera left. He supposes they must have come to check on her. She deserves better people than him to watch over her.

**********

That night, the wind bites him harder than usual. He wraps himself in the thin blankets, trying to shield himself from the worst of it. 

‘It’s the last frost. The spring will come soon.’

A quiet voice, a high voice, seems to fill the room. He jumps up with a start, scanning the room. He knows instantly what the figure in wreathed in blue light must be.

The girl doesn’t look more than twelve, although he supposed she could be much older. A hood covers her head, her cloak dragging slightly along the floor behind her bare feet as she reaches his bars, lays one hand gently on them, and passes through them like air. 

‘Spirit’.

She smiles like the sun, like she’s about to tell him about some great game she has found, or show him a frog she’s caught down by the river, and he feels his heart sink.

‘Whatever you’ve got planned for me, spirit? I don’t deserve it. Don’t waste your time on me.’

She tilts her head to one side, considering him. Her smile doesn’t fade.

‘But you don’t know what I’m a spirit of, yet.’

He folds his arms.

‘And what is that?’

She reaches out both hands, upwards, towards his.

‘Why not come see?’

He knows he should resist. Refuse. Turn away and face his darkness. 

‘You’re the third one, aren’t you?’

She nods, beaming at him. 

‘The last. You’ll like what I have to show you. I promise!’

He shakes his head, arms folded. 

‘No more lying. No more pretending to be someone I’m not. No letting others face the punishment I should be taking.’

Her face lights up, as though the glow from within her has filled every part of her face. Her grin widens as she meets his eyes.

‘And that’s why you’ll like what I have to show you!’

‘And just what are you a spirit of?’

He knows the answer before she says it. Feels it knotting itself into his stomach, its ice seeping into his bones as she speaks the word.

‘Sacrifice.’


	7. Chapter 7

Lights.

Wind.

Sound.

He closes his eyes, trying to shut it all out until the world clears, until the rushing torrents are replaced with a gentle breeze, and the roar turns to birdsong.

The sun hurts his eyes. So bright, after weeks locked behind bars. He blinks, his vision adjusting, until he can focus on the trees ahead.

The bark is rough beneath his hands, crumbling at his touch. He turns, to ask -

‘Go ahead.’

The spirit smiles, waving a hand benevolently ahead. 

He nods, then slips between the branches, and is gone.

***********

He sees the house about five minutes later, as if materialising between the leaves. The sounds of running water, lights glinting off windows. The smell of lavender and rose. He stops, his hands tracing the trunk ahead.

He knew that smell. She must have washed her hair in rose water, that night in the barn. He’d spent too many nights in his cell, trying to remember how it lingered on his hands after he ran them through it, clinging to his skin like paint on a canvas.

_Thud._

At the noise, he ducks behind the tree, his breath held. He counts to ten, then twenty. Still nothing. After thirty counts, he creeps forward, towards the sound.

She lies on a bench ahead of him, one arm across her chest, the other gently touching the grass beneath. His heart pounds, a thousand visions flashing before his eyes - and then her chest rises and falls, and he feels the knot in his chest loosen. A book lies by her hand, where it must have fallen. 

He’d never taken her for a reader. But there was much about her he didn’t know. A whole life, before him.

He wants to go to her. To brush the strands of hair away from her face, kiss her awake. He closes his eyes. Breathes. Steps forward and -

‘Darling?’

At the man’s voice, he darts behind the tree again. 

Footsteps on a path, the sound of boots on gravel.

‘There you are, sweetheart!’

He’d know that voice anywhere. Cursing inwardly, he peers out.

The Commander is more relaxed than he’s seen him. Out of uniform, his usual glare replaced by a smile. Reaching Evelyn, he raises her hand to his lips. 

She murmurs, softly, raising the other to her face.

‘Where...’

Cullen laughs softly, his hand tracing her face.

‘I think you needed the rest, my love. After last night...’

Blackwall can feel his hand grinding the bark of the tree, barely registering the splintering as it digs into his flesh. 

He watches her take his hand, hold her body to his, murmur something into his ear. As he turns, he feels something escape his mouth, something between a sigh and a sob, and darts into the tree line.

*************

He hears nothing, as he curls his arms around his knees, pulling them into his chest. He doesn’t know how long passes, before he feels the soft warmth of the spirit’s hand on his. The smile hasn’t left her face, but he can see his sorrow in her eyes.

‘So this is what you mean, spirit? Sacrifice.’

She folds her hands, and nods.

‘Evelyn Trevelyan will get the life she deserves. The love of a good man. The family, growing with the years. The friends at her side. Every year, her love will deepen, and she will forget another piece of the poor, wicked Thom Rainier.’

The ice is spreading through him now, burning. He counts again. To ten. Twenty. Thirty.

He looks up, forcing himself to meet the spirit’s eyes. 

Nods.

‘Very well, spirit. You’ve made your case. I accept.’

The girl has her hands over her face now, one corner of her sleeve at her eyes. She laughs, as if the sun is in her again, meeting his eyes, her hand on his, her arms around him.

‘Erm.... spirit?’

She releases him, her eyes meeting his, the tears brimming in their corners sparkling in the sun.

‘I knew you could! I knew you’d pass!’

‘Pass? What do you-‘

_Click._


	8. Chapter 8

He tries to cling to it as long as he can. To the birdsong, to the wind in the trees. To the memory of her smile, the sound of her laugh. Until the scene melts away, and all that’s left behind is the cold stone underneath his hands. 

_No, no, no. This can’t be right. This wasn’t the deal._

The sound of clapping rings across the room, hollow and echoing. He turns, his stomach sinking at the sight of the man wreathed in green light.

‘You! What do you -‘

The man grins, the wicked smile creeping across his face.

‘Come now, old man! You can’t see it? After all our hard work....’

‘It’s as I expected. As we all expected.’

A woman’s voice, low and sultry. He turns on his heel, to see the spirit in red draped against the bars, one hand hanging limply above the lock. 

‘It’s a trap, isn’t it? By Andraste, what have you.... what have I...’

‘You’ve passed.’

The girl’s voice comes from somewhere close, and he can feel her now, her arms around his belly. For a moment, all is still. He counts the breaths, looking into the spirits’ faces. Waiting.

‘I took your deal, spirit. But I’m here.’ 

The man in green nods. Perhaps Blackwall was imagining it, but there was something softer in his grin now, like it was finally reaching his eyes.

‘Three spirits, three deals. Three chances to slip, become the monster. Three chances to slay the beast.’

The spirit rises, bowing with a flourish.

‘One Spirit of Truth, at your service. Although, I’ll admit that the deception involved was not my idea...’

The woman in red chuckles.

‘To him, you proved the value of what is true. To me, you showed the value of what is right. And after all, do Truth and Honor not usually walk together?’

The man in green has crossed to her side now, raising her hand to his mouth.

‘Only during our best work, my dear.’

Blackwall shakes his head. 

‘But... but the deal I took was -‘

The girl beams at him, hands clasped over her chest.

‘You chose her. To put aside yourself, your needs, your past. For her. Maybe that’s sacrifice. But more than anything, it’s Love.’

The girl leans in, beckoning for him to come closer, and he shuffles towards her. 

‘And the best bit? You can still have that. Watch her grow, watch her fall in love, and forget who you were. Because who you were? He’s _gone._ ’

He watched the spirit’s eyes gleaming, the lights in the room dancing across them.

‘You think she could still love me? After everything I’ve done? After everything I’ve done to her?’

The girl giggles softly.

‘Won’t know til you try, will you?’

Somewhere, the seed of hope in his chest was starting to sprout. 

‘I... I don’t know what to say, spirit. Spirits.’

He turns, to face them all. They watch him, and he feels like a lamb taking its first, wobbly steps as the farmer sets it on its feet. 

The man in green raises one hand.

‘There’s one last thing you have to do, old chap.’

‘Anything.’

The spirit raises his hand, and with a wink, clicks his fingers.

*********

The stone is cold under his face. He wonders how long he’s been lying here. The blankets from his sleeping pallet lie tangled to one side, where they must have fallen with him. 

He sits up, one hand to his head, trying to take in the scene around him. No spirits, no strange lights. 

Something glinting in the corner catches his eye, and he turns sharply. At the bottom of the stairs, curled lazily in a heap, the strange apostate elf sleeps soundly.

**********

They come for him in the morning. Two Inquisition guards, their eyes darting around nervously.

‘Inquisitor sent for you. Are you ready, ser?’

He stops. Closes his eyes. Counts to ten. Listens to the sound of the sparrows in the trees above, the children playing in the courtyard. The clash of swords and the songs from the kitchens.

‘Yes. I’m ready.’


End file.
